Sisters...

I hate it when my sisters gang up on me. Not because I can’t handle criticism but because they won’t stop yapping for long enough for me to tell them to mind their own business.

The issue? A birdy (damn you, G.) told my eldest sister what the industrial strenght vacuum cleaner I bought was for. Gossip travels fast, and the three twatwaffles decided to have an opinion and share it with me because I care about what they think, apparently.

According to them, my laziness has reached an all-time low because I choose to vacuum the garden instead of sweeping it like any other normal person.

Pff, as if.

Well... Being the adult I am, guess who got their invitations to the bbq at my place tomorrow revoked.

I kid, of course, that would be petty, which I’m not (today). Besides, I’d miss out on seeing my nieces and nephew. No, those evil wenches can have this one. In the mean time, I’ll just dial up my efforts to turn their kids against them. (It’s working, by the way. The oldest already has a mouth on her that makes trashy-me proud to be her aunt)

God, I can’t wait until those monkeys reach puberty. Sweet revenge will be mine.